


is this really life?

by Olympus



Series: in which: [4]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Regicide, thats it lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:46:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28232640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Olympus/pseuds/Olympus
Summary: Brutus Siege realized that with millions of lives on the line, his own future doesn’t really matter. Guilt is hard for him to live with, so in the end, he doesn’t live at all.
Series: in which: [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1543066





	is this really life?

The opening of the ceremony was exactly like it was supposed to be. Brutus’ brother gracefully accepted and ascended to the throne, the crown ensnaring his horns in intricate loops and knots that would take hours to undo. He looked like she was born to be there, and even the gauntlet that lay on the pedestal near him glowed a bit, embracing the new king of Alaris. He was meant for the throne. 

And that is where the bitterness came from. Brutus would be a liar (and he prided himself on his refusal to tell lies) if he said otherwise. He envied how his brother was everything his family wanted—the sort of man who didn’t blink an eye at the shady offers from crime rings around Laix, who accepted the bribe money with ease and allowed trafficking to continue. The people were  _ suffering _ , and he was not the one to help them. 

In this way, Brutus was lucky. He was the second born. This meant he didn’t have to worry about the throne for himself (unless some horrible accident befell his brother, which he had considered causing for a few years), and was given all the time in the world for his studies and idle day-to-day life. There was nothing for him in the Maze-Palace. 

At night (because sleep often eluded him) he’d go to Timoris, immerse himself in a life that wasn’t and could  _ never _ be his own. He was just Brutus there. There was no Siege, no crown or royal family hanging above his head. No one looked twice at his twisted horns or dark purple skin. There were a lot of Vehx in Alaris, after all. 

He would frequent the pubs and restaurants lining the crowded streets of the squares downtown. He’d made friends and had lovers; none of them, he knew, could ever know his true identity. 

It didn’t take long for the city to feel the effects of the new King’s rule. People— _ children _ —were being snatched in daylight in the middle of the street. Bodies were found in unlikely places, like they had been dumped there. They’d be unidentifiable, fingerprints seared to the bone, horns sawed off down to skull, teeth pried out and collected to sell.

Yet, some part of Brutus felt like he couldn’t do anything. What would happen if he intervened—or even talked to his brother? But he feared that for many reasons. 

His parent’s deaths weren’t an accident. Brutus had overheard his brother talking to an advisor late one night as he escaped the palace. 

“Tullius—if the public finds out about the late king—”

“Shut up, Michael.” His voice was dangerously low, the way Brutus only heard a few times before. 

Brutus edged closer, making sure he stood far enough away to keep from being found. 

He heard Tullius move a little, and a sharp intake of breath that must have been Michael, the eldest advisor. “You can’t—it’ll be suspicious if I end up missing, too,” the advisor said, voice higher than normal as rushed. 

A laugh. It was the kind of arrogant chuckle that drove Brutus insane when he had to interact with his brother. “You think I’m afraid of that? No, Michael,” he moved again, voice further away now. “I am showing you what can—and  _ would _ —happen if anything manages to escape this palace.”

That was enough for Brutus. He fled as quickly and silently as he could before sinking down to a sitting position, back against the wall. He noticed a small rune inscribed on the wall, marking the history that happened in those halls. Brutus was suddenly and completely overwhelmed. 

He didn’t want this. He didn’t want  _ any _ of this. He could go his entire life without seeing the strange art painted on the ceilings of the halls, the signature dark gray stone, the off-putting and hollow light that was constant throughout the entire palace. It crowded him and made him feel so, so,  _ so _ small. He pulled his knees to his chest, breath coming quicker and quicker and all he could think about was the walls pressing in and coming closer,  _ closer,closercloser there’snotenoughairhere— _

He dug his fingers into his legs, the slight pain bringing him back just a little. Still, he hated,  _ hated _ , his life here so much. It was all he could do to not implode on himself—knowing that there were still those outside that were suffering, but what… what  _ could _ he do? 

Brutus’ lover at this point in time was a man named Reuben. He was a simple person who owned a small hotel in the downtown of Timoris. Brutus would never tell him this, of course, because he feared the reaction, but he pitied Reuben. Times were changing, power that the people didn’t know of was exchanging hands. 

Brutus knew it was his duty to reveal this treachery against the people, but he froze every time the thought crossed his mind. He didn’t know whether or not he was the right person to do what had to be done. 

So, late one night as he held the other man, his breath slowing as he drifted off to sleep, he decided to finally speak. 

“If I knew a secret that could change the world, my love, should I let everyone know? Is that what iw as put here to do?”

He said it softly, mostly to himself, but Reuben stirred. He opened the clear brown eyes and smiled softly up at Brutus. “Is it a good secret?”

Brutus considered that. The obvious answer was no, it was not a good secret. The secret that he was the second born to the current Siege line, that his brother was driving the country to a horrible end, that he had the power to stop it—at the cost of all he knew, loved, and wanted. 

“No,” he said, choosing the simple answer.

Reuben’s eyes closed and he murmured something equally as soft as when Brutus first spoke, “Then choose whichever would help the most people.”

They didn’t speak after that. A weight settled on Brutus’ heart as he closed his eyes.  _ This _ is what he feared. He was scared of losing his family. His lineage. For Splinter’s sake, he was terrified of who he’d be as the brother to Tullius. Would the people turn against him? But as he looked down at Reuben, he understood. 

Brutus knew what was good for everyone. He knew that there was a way that he could save thousands of lives. The people, as he’d referred to them for so long, were just mortal as well as he was. They had lives. They had lives that would be affected no matter what choice Brutus made, but… he could do something that would benefit people for generations to come. 

He took a breath and decided to let himself enjoy this for now. Peace, as he knew, was hard to find these days. And for the coming years he would not be able to rest. 

Brutus Siege walked through the Maze-Palace quickly, clutching a leather-bound journal in his left hand. In the right he held a blade. It was simple enough—something that could be found in homes all across the world. So far, it’d served his purpose very well. 

He’d originally found it hard to stomach the sight of blood, but over the last few years he became accustomed to it. It often covered the same blade he carried now—sometimes he wasn’t able to sleep at night, his hands felt like they were still coated with the slippery liquid. No matter how many times he scrubbed, the feeling rarely left. His hands were dried and cracked most of the time now, but he ignored it. 

He’d ignored much of his wellbeing for a while now. His brother, forh whom he was something of an advisor, questioned him about it occasionally. When Brutus looked especially gaunt, when his hands were cracked and he was listless from nights of no sleep.

But he’d brush it off with an easy smile as he always did, distracting his brother. 

That was the easy part of what he did. They were raised relatively the same way—family before all, their power and lineage was what made them who they were. “The Siege family bows to no one,” Antonius, their father, would say. He’d then smile in a way that used to make Brutus shiver. “Especially to those who we have no use for.”

Tullius took it to heart. He knew—and acted—like was Splinter’s gift to the world. Upholding their family’s name and carrying on the family business of turning Alaris into hell for the people who lived there.

Brutus refused to see himself as part of that legacy. Brutus meant “heavy,” he was told, and he understood that. The choices his brother and the rest of his family made weighed on him. 

But tonight he’d acted once again in order to restore peace to Alaris. 

There’d been a string of assassinations for a while now—the first being the lord of an infamous trafficking crime ring. The woman had been a major pawn of Julius. She was also the first to fall according to Brutus’ plan. 

The journal he carried everywhere with him held details of what he had to do. He’d spent months coming up with it, beginning after the night he’d spent with Reuben. That night had been his last. He didn’t feel worthy anymore to be graced with the other man’s presence, after all, because he could’ve acted sooner. Brutus felt guilty about it all. The more he thought about it, the more the blood on his hands affected him. 

It wasn’t the blood of those he he’d been forced to kill, no. They were little more than monsters and pawns of Tullius’, but it was the lifeblood of the people who had their lives taken before Brutus could act. The people who died while he worried after his family. 

The person he’d targeted tonight was a high ranking official from City Macare. The man, a Foca, was one of the people who allowed the huge market for trafficking to continue. He often turned a blind eye to the ships and dealings that were done right under his nose in the city, which happened to be the only major port into Alaris. If not for him, thousands would still be alive and with their families. 

So, for now, Brutus didn’t feel guilty. 

He shouldn’t have been surprised to find that there were murmurs of revolt in Timoris. He’d been about to finish off another one of Tullius’ pieces when the terrified man asked him if he was one of the Descended. 

Of course, he’d never heard of such a thing. He hesitated. The knife he held—the same one that’d killed at least 7 people before him—was still at a lethal angle. He’d gotten quite good at using it after this all this time. 

“The what?” He inquired softly. The man’s eyes widened and Brutus realized that his voice gave him away. 

“You’re,  _ Br _ —” 

He was cut off by a clean slice. No voice left as he bled out, choking, blood running out of his mouth. It was something of a mistake to let himself be identified by this man. But now, at least, he hoped he might have some allies. 

The Descended were nothing like Brutus thought they would be. He expected something like a ragtag group of teens whose ideas were much too big for them—but they were something else entirely. 

Brutus managed to track them down after about a month of searching. They were holed up in some tavern just south of Timoris, from where they were able to keep an eye on the comings and goings in the palace. So, it was no surprise to Brutus that when he entered the tavern he was met by several blades to his throat. 

“I came to help you,” he said simply. He definitely could have something more explaining, but there was a part of him that wouldn’t mind if they slit his throat and ended it right then and there. 

However, these people were obviously aware of what had been happening to the politicians and lords around Alaris. Realization dawned on their leader’s face—at least, Brutus assumed she was the leader with how the others in the group glanced back at her as if waiting for commands. 

Instead of simply telling them to stand down she let out a loud laugh and stepped back, firmly clapping him on the back before she nodded at the rest of the group. “So you’re the one who’s been doing our work for us, huh?”

Her voice was deep and weathered. She’d obviously had a hard life, as littered up and down her well-muscled arms were multiple scars and wounds that were both long-healed as well as fresh. She was taller than Brutus as well, but the way she held herself made her seem like she wasn’t a threat—instead, she was someone you wanted to befriend. Although he wouldn’t admit it to anyone, he immediately took a liking to her. 

Once they were settled (though Brutus was not getting any more used to his surroundings) she introduced herself as Ophelia. She went through their group, which was small, only having about 6 members total. Yvette, a Foca with dark skin, Clem, a Yrah who’d previously been a trafficking victim, Elva who was human and apparently a master of the Siegyk runic system, Ajax, a Divisi who’d been in the same predicament as Clem, Fera, an Erix who was the oldest out of all of them, and of course, Ophelia. 

She was a demigod. The daughter of Rise, goddess of light and energy. It explained the way people gravitated towards her, but Brutus understood just why she was where she is now. Demigods were the majority of trafficking victims—in their case, butchered for their blood and skin which often had properties and could be used in several different spells and rituals. Ophelia especially would have been at risk for being the daughter of a major goddess like Rise. 

They spent the night planning just how to bring down Tullius for good. Now that he was finally with people who agreed on what had to happen, Brutus was relieved to find he didn’t feel so guilty about his actions from before. He was in the right now. 

They agreed that it was in their best interest to keep a low profile for now—after all, Brutus had been doing a good enough job before. But he was worried mostly about what would become of Alaris after Tullius’ inevitable removal from the throne (it made him a little to anxious to think about what would happen to his brother).

Elva, who was generally a quiet person, came up with the idea to split the country into provinces, each with elected leaders instead of the lords and senators they had now. A council of people from each major city in each region. Ophelia loved the idea. 

And so  _ that _ was settled. But one thing had been bothering him for a while. What the man who’d told him called these people—the descended. What was that?

So, because he fancied himself a rather blunt person, he asked. 

Ophelia froze for a second and sighed. She looked around the room they were in—even though it was clearly deserted—to make sure that no one could overhear what she was going to say. Brutus felt himself tense.

“What do you know of the goddess Jackdaw?” She asked simply, her hazel eyes somewhat guarded. 

“I--,” he started. “I don’t really know much, now that I think of it.” And that was the truth. The goddess was known as the one who controlled night, dreams, and prophecy, while her sister, Lark, was the goddess of day, fate, and prophecy as well. They were the ones who gifted the Prophets of Laix their visions, or so was widely thought. Brutus knew that it was something that any god could do, but prophets chosen by one of those two would receive visions of more than just the near future. But that was it. 

She wasn’t a goddess who was seen often, like Diverge, Cygnus, or even her sister, and there had been no reports of her appearance for a few centuries. It was presumed she was either in slumber or walking the earth in some other form. 

Ophelia took a breath. “We, the Descended, are who Jackdaw chose to carry on and keep the world… steady.”

Brutus was confused now. “What do you mean? Jackdaw hasn’t been seen for, what, centuries, but you’re…?”

“The ones who were given a purpose by Jackdaw. Each of us received a… vision, of sorts, where Jackdaw herself created a ritual for us. If we went through with it we were gifted with something that we desperately needed, and would in return become Descended. We live longer lives and have certain abilities, but it’s different for all of us.”

“Yeah,” Fera said, her voice soft. “I lost my soulmate, my wife, and with that any chance I had of creating a family. I had no place in the world anymore, especially with the growing stigma against us. I was ready to die. But Jackdaw helped me realize that my purpose could be whatever I make it to be. I’m helping others now,” she continued, “and I don’t think I can say that I regret any of it.”

Brutus found his heart aching. To have a purpose beyond what you were born to do… it was beautiful. He wished for a second that he could become one of them. He wanted something so stable, something he could work towards for a long time with a group of people he could come to care for—but deep down, he knew that he would never be able to. His destiny lay in something else. 

Despite the deep sadness that this realization brought him, Brutus knew that he was doing what he could. He was dedicating himself to more than who he was. So, he smiled, letting it reach his eyes. These people, the Descended, he would trust. 

Brutus’ notebook was connected to a similar one that belonged to Ophelia, engineered by Elva. She sent updates on the progress of creating the councils that would take over once Tullius was gone. 

Today was the day that the infrastructure was in place. Each member of the Descended was set up in a different province at the moment, prepared or still in preparations for the exchange of power… and Brutus himself was nearing the end of the plan he’d created after his decision with Reuben. There was only one more person left that he would be able to target before Tullius was the only one in their way. 

Ankh. They were the only person left in the Siege family, and the only one who would be able to feasibly cease power legally after everything was done. 

So Brutus tracked Ankh down, though it wasn’t very hard. He found them alone on the small farm that he and Tullius had frequented when they were children. Ankh was something of a grandparent to him, and gods, this was going to hurt Brutus more than he could imagine. 

They lived alone, as Marcus Siege was their partner, and they couldn’t bear to replace him with someone else. But Ankh also had several dogs as well as farm animals… their little home wasn’t lonely, really, but Brutus wondered what it was like to be alive for so long, having to see your own family live and die without being able to stop it. He wondered if that was why Ankh withdrew after Tullius deposed of his and Brutus’ parents. Ankh had seen things like that happen before, like with Sejanus and Gaius, but by now it had to be taking some sort of toll.

The field in front of Ankh’s home was the same as it ever was. The grass was rather short, because the two goats that they had took care of that, but with the ending of winter, small, purple and blue flowers had sprung up close to the ground.

It was quiet in a way that Brutus didn’t like. Sure, there were the clucking of hens in the background and the occasionally snort from some other animal in the background, but that was it. He’d forgotten just how removed from society Ankh was. But as Brutus walked up to the little cottage Ankh called him, he allowed himself to drink it all in. 

Everything was the same was it was 20 something years ago, back when they’d visited last. It was something like a memory, preserved and never aging. 

The cottage’s door was unlocked. The dark green door swung open, the hinges loose and well-greased as they always were. It was a small house, so the door opened up into the kitchen to the left and a small sitting area on the right, where Ankh sat. Brutus was aware more than now that it was so, so quiet. Ankh gazed at him with eyes that had seen too much. 

“I know what you’re here for, Brutus,” Ankh said. Their voice flowed and was smooth, untouched by age. “I am sorry it came to this point.”

Brutus didn’t doubt that. There was a lot to be sorry for, and he often found himself deep in thinking about what could have been.

But he looked at Ankh and then—he understood. All Ankh wanted was to be left alone. They’d lived a long, long life, and it was time for them to be forgotten about. The Siege family had taken too much and given nothing in return but centuries of pain. 

So, he didn’t bring his weapon out (though he didn’t quite understand why he didn’t have it readied, because he usually did). He looked at Ankh for a long moment. The tight curls that were kept closely shaved to their head, the unblemished dark purple skin that almost matched Brutus’ own… he saw himself reflected in Ankh, just as he knew his ancestors had as well. 

He took a seat across from them in a roughly hewn chair made of a tree native to this area. But that was the trigger—he curled up into himself and began to cry. There was no stopping the tears now, he knew, because this had been building for years. Seeing his parents ripped away for some purpose of Tullius’, being forced to watch hundreds of thousands suffer under his family’s rule, knowing that  _ he _ was the cause of so many years’ worth of rule coming to it end. It all stung so, so badly. And now Ankh was here, the only link alive to his past and even the future, and he was supposed to end their life. 

The sobs kept coming, racking his body as he rocked forwards and backwards as if trying to rid himself of these emotions. But Ankh stood and crossed to in front of Brutus, kneeling. They whispered to Brutus that some things had to end. That Brutus was as much a victim as the people he was trying to protect were. 

“You’re doing such a good job,” Ankh said, voice breaking a little. Brutus knew that they were close to tears as well. 

“I—” he stuttered, still choking back the upwelling emotions. “I don’t want to be alone after this is all done. And you—” he took a breath, staring at Ankh’s eyes. They were a deep, deep black, a color that hadn’t been passed on through the Siege family. “You don’t deserve to be another casualty of our family. Your life should be separate. It  _ should _ have been separate for years now.”

Ankh stood back up, attempting to blink away any tears. They smiled sadly. “I don’t have a choice in that. You are all my family, and have been for over a thousand years, how could I abandon you all?”

“You have to. Gods, Ankh, we don’t deserve you,” Brutus said, finding his voice stronger than before. “I swear that we can’t—won’t be able to bother you anymore. You should be free of all of this.”

Ankh was silent where they stood. “Can you—can you make sure that no one comes looking for me again?”

Brutus nodded. Ankh would be erased from everything. They would cease to exist and finally have their life back. 

Everything was complete. There was nothing that the Descended could help with now. 

Brutus knew that this is what everyone had been waiting for—the moment that would tip the scales to the favor of the people who lived in Alaris. But as he headed down the hall that led to Tullius’ quarters, he did all he could to push away any feelings of unease. 

Tullius deserved to die. He deserved everything that was heading his way because, after all, he had the blood of thousands dousing him from head to toe. Every issue in Alaris led back to  _ him _ . 

But, as his brother and only surviving relative, Brutus felt something like remorse. He felt like if he had just done something more when he could have… if he’d steered Tullius away from the darker advisors their father had, if he had just  _ been _ there, if he wasn’t jealous of the position Tullius was born into, things would have gone a different way. 

Instead, here he was now. Hand on the door to Tullius’ bedroom, where he knew the king lay unprotected. In his left hand was a different knife than the ones he used before. His brother deserved something more than that. 

He pushed and sent a pulse of magic into the door, successfully opening it. His inherent magic was keyed into all places in the maze-palace, after all, and Tullius did not expect his brother to be his undoing. 

The room he entered into was dark, but Brutus knew it was the main chamber of the king’s bedroom. A large bed lay off to the right, where he could hear soft and even breathing. Tullius was asleep, just as he’d planned. 

Brutus didn’t want his brother to suffer. Some small part of him wished for his death to be instantaneous—painless, even. But people cried for the blood of their king, and Brutus was only the person who carried out what the people wanted. 

He pressed the knife, a beautiful, serrated blade collected by Julius Siege himself, into the dark blue skin of his brother’s neck. 

And Tullius awoke. His eyes snapped open, immediately going to where Brutus stood above him. He imagined he could see a million different emotions flash through Tullius’ eyes, but there was one that was clear: betrayal. 

If Brutus didn’t know about the arrogance of his brother, he’d be worried about a weapon concealed somewhere within easy reach for Tullius, but he was certain that there was nothing now that could help him. Instead, he pressed the blade deeper into the man’s skin. Adrenaline spiked through Brutus and all previous thoughts of doubt were almost gone. He was  _ so _ close to being done with it all. 

But instead, he said: “If you step down now, I don’t have to kill you.”

He wasn’t sure where this offer of mercy came from. Tullius certainly didn’t deserve it. But the air around them was still, the silence of the situation deafening. 

“I think, somewhere inside of my mind, I knew it was you,” Tullius stated. His voice was dead. It blended in perfectly with his surroundings—flat, emotionless, but tense all the same. “But, Brutus, this  _ hurts _ .”

Brutus stared down at his brother and grit his teeth, suddenly knowing that Tullius would absolutely not accept his defeat. He would either die here or now, or Brutus would fail and Alaris would be at the mercy of a king who had nothing to lose anymore. So he pressed harder, drawing some of the purple blood that was unique to their family. 

Tullius’ eyes widened hysterically, finally betraying some emotion. “What do you want—I can grant you anything, but please—”

Brutus realized too late that it was fake. He moved his arm in preparation to block a strike of some sort, but instead of being met with another weapon, there was a flash of bright, bright white light. 

And then Tullius was gone. There was no trace of him besides a small splash of purple where a bead of blood had landed as the king vanished. 

Brutus waited two weeks before he announced that the king was dead. He stalked every corridor of the palace he was able to reach, even clearing out several passages that had been long-buried under rubble. But there was  _ nothing _ . No trace of Tullius, the king had just simply disappeared. 

He wrote something simple in the notebook to Ophelia a few days before it was made public. 

_ It’s done, _ it said. Brutus resolved to burn the book later, knowing it could be used to implicate him if it fell into the wrong hands. If Ophelia and the Descended needed him, they could always find him some way or another. 

But the maze-palace felt so large, and now that Brutus’ purpose was fulfilled, he wondered if there was a place in the world for him anymore. 

It is unknown what happened to Brutus Siege after the death of his brother. Some people said he left the country, fearing whoever had killed Tullius, but what was certain was that no one ever saw Brutus again. 

Alaris flourished under the rule of the province councils. The Descended left Alaris in the hands of people who they knew would do well to keep the country whole, and created for themselves a home in Jeraii. 

The Siege family was ended with Brutus and the monarchy of Alaris remained dormant for over a thousand years. Several people who claimed they were of Siege blood tried the Gauntlet—but not even Sejanus, the most famous queen of Alaris and Brutus’ grandmother, could conquer it. Those who tried oftentimes died. It was not until 3019 P.S. that a legitimate descendant of Marcus Siege and Ankh lay claim on the throne. 


End file.
